Annabelle watched and then looked back up at Jack.
“And by the way, luv,” he whispered as he straightened and she climbed out as well. “I am not co-dependent.”
Annabelle’s brows rose. “You heard?”
“Everything. The car is wired. It’s a Business vehicle.”
Annabelle smiled. And then she laughed. That explained a lot. The car didn’t seem like Jack because it wasn’t. It was part of the façade he wore when… working. And it was probably the only vehicle he owned that would comfortably fit eight people.
“Okay. Sorry about that.”
“And, nice job with the puzzle. I’m impressed,” he added, leaning in to whisper the words against her ear. The feel of his breath across her skin made it tingle and his deep accent made her blood sing.
He’s a married man, Annabelle. And you need sleep.
“What’s going on with Clara?” She asked, wanting to turn the subject away from herself as quickly as possible.
Jack didn’t answer right away. He looked over his shoulder at Dylan, who was getting out of the car after them, and then he turned back to face the expansive garage and the doors to the stairs at the other end.
“I haven’t the foggiest.”
Annabelle left it at that and didn’t ask him any more questions. The look on his face told her he was more than a little distracted and had more than his fair share on his mind. She fell in step beside him and the others followed, including Alex, who brought up the rear. Cassie carried one of the sleeping girls and Trinity carried the other. They were out for the night.
Annabelle envied them their peace.
The group of eight made their way through the garage and into terminal. After a tram ride and a long hike down moving walkway after moving walkway, they entered the baggage claim area. It was crawling with late-night business travelers, people visiting their families on vacation, and tourists who flocked to the Twin Cities during its warmer months.
Annabelle was not happy. Airports were some of her least favorite places on the planet. Every time a plane took off overhead, she cringed. And prayed that its passengers would have a safe journey.
“’S about time, da’.”
Jack spun around at the sound of his daughter’s voice. Annabelle turned as well. Before her stood a very attractive blue-eyed girl with jet-black hair and a nose ring. Her makeup was perfectly applied and genuinely enhanced her features, which included the afore-mentioned eyes, and lips that were exquisitely pouty. Annabelle knew where she’d gotten the eyes. The lips, on the other hand, must have come from her mother.
And her figure wasn’t anything to laugh at, either. Dressed how she was, that much was easy to see. The girl was tall – perhaps an inch taller than Annabelle – and proportioned like a model. Pre-anorexia.
She looked like she worked out a lot. In ultra-tight jeans filled with holes in all sorts of strange places, and a short, stretchy t-shirt that touted the finer qualities of some British band by the name of “Hundred Reasons”, Clara represented the quintessential daddy’s-little-girl-coming-of-age.
Annabelle took a deep breath and thought, Oh boy.
Dylan was apparently thinking the same thing, because he came up beside Annabelle and stared unabashedly.
“Who’re your bosom companions, da’? Like to introduce us?” Clara suggested as she stared back at Dylan, a sly smile on her face. Her accent was so pronounced that Annabelle realized Jack almost sounded American in comparison. He’d been in the states too long.
“Clara, a word in private please.” Jack stepped forward and firmly took his daughter by the elbow.
“Jack, you right bugger! What in bloody ‘ell took you so long?”
Jack let go of his daughter’s arm and looked over her shoulder.
“Oh, Christ,” he swore softly. His entire body went rigid. A woman had come out of the bathroom and was making her way toward them. Sort of. She was weaving, really, was more like it. As if there were a line of orange cones in between her and Jack and she needed to wind in between each one to make points.
“Oh yeah, da’, forgot to mention. Mum’s here,” Clara smiled. “And she’s ri’ pissed.”
“Cor, blimey, but what a beastly flight,” the woman continued when she’d neared Jack. Still, she swayed slightly from side to side, as if she were a tall building in a strong gale. “You’ll have to forgive me, Jackie, but I’m a bit bladdered. You know how bleeding boring that flight can be and you can’t exactly bonk-” She stopped mid-sentence when she realized that she and Jack were not the only two people in the terminal. She swayed a little, her green eyes moving from Annabelle to Dylan to Trinity and so forth. And then she smiled a great big grin and opened her eyes wide.
“Well hello!” she exclaimed, waving her arms above her head theatrically.
“Right,” Jack said, taking sudden initiative. He moved forward, trading a grip on his daughter’s arm for one on his ex-wife’s, and proceeded to steer her out of the middle of the busy aisle, toward a row of seats along the windows on one wall.
The others followed, including Clara, whose interest was currently divided between Dylan and the promising spectacle that her mother was making.
Annabelle found herself hanging back a bit, feeling the need to give Jack and his ex-wife some space. It was a need that apparently she, alone, felt, because everyone else crowded around the couple, like piranhas.
Beatrice Hughes, formerly Beatrice Thane, was a woman of average height and average build, but with anything-but-average cat-like green eyes and extra-pouty lips. Yup. Clara had her mother’s mouth.
That thought brought a secret smile to Annabelle’s own lips.
Beatrice’s hair was blonde, like her ex-husband’s, so Annabelle assumed that Clara’s jet-black mane was an excellent dye job. And it sort of complemented her very fair skin and very blue eyes. In essence, Clara had gotten the good genes from both of her parents. At least, on the outside. Who knew what went on beneath a person’s skin.
“What in bloody hell are you two doing here?” Jack asked his ex-wife, his tone hard, his whisper loud enough to carry well past Annabelle. His jaw was tense and his posture was unyielding. As was the look in his sapphire eyes.
“Oh, don’t be such a nark! We ‘aven’t seen you in a donkey’s years and you never give us a bell. Besides, I’ve always wanted to have a shufti at that gigantic canyon thing – is it far?” Beatrice leaned very far over to have a look around Jack’s looming figure, and nearly fell off of the seat when she did so. She barely seemed to notice Jack steadying her, as her gaze had once more fallen on Annabelle. “Is this your lovely new b-”
“Beatrice, this is truly a terrible time. I’m putting you back on a plane tonight-”
“Like bloody hell, you are!” That got her attention. She snapped straight and pinned Jack with a blood-curdling gaze. It would have had more the effect she was looking for if she hadn’t been swaying in her seat. She burped. “Sorry.”
“Da’, we’ve come too far-”
Jack whirled on his daughter and pinned her to the spot with his angry gaze. “I told you, Clara. It isn’t a good time.” He said the words carefully and slowly. His expression was incredibly meaningful.
And it hit Annabelle. Clara knew what he was.
Clara stared at her father belligerently. And then she blinked. She turned to look at Dylan. Then Annabelle. And then the rest of them. Her gaze lingered on the two little girls.
“Them too, da’? Did you drag two babies into one o’ your messes?” Her tone was a touch more subdued now, but it was still evident that she was seventeen years old and had a rebellious streak. She was walking a thin line. Skirting around the subject but touching it ever so gently, teasing the truth like one would a rabid dog.